Going; Gone.

From whiskey river:

There will come soft rains

There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;

And frogs in the pools singing at night,
And wild plum-trees in tremulous white;

Robins will wear their feathery fire
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;

And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.

Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree
If mankind perished utterly;

And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,
Would scarcely know that we were gone.

(Sara Teasdale)

…and:

Snow Geese

Oh, to love what is lovely, and will not last!
What a task
to ask

of anything, or anyone,

yet it is ours,
and not by the century or the year, but by the hours.

(Mary Oliver)

Not from whiskey river, but “Snow Geese” continues on as follows:

One fall day I heard
above me, and above the sting of the wind, a sound
I did not know, and my look shot upward; it was

a flock of snow geese, winging it
faster than the ones we usually see,
and, being the color of snow, catching the sun

so they were, in part at least, golden. I

held my breath
as we do
sometimes
to stop time
when something wonderful
has touched us

as with a match,
which is lit, and bright,
but does not hurt
in the common way,

but delightfully,
as if delight
were the most serious thing
you ever felt.

The geese
flew on,
I have never
seen them again.

Maybe I will, someday, somewhere.
Maybe I won’t.
It doesn’t matter.
What matters
is that, when I saw them,
I saw them
as through the veil, secretly, joyfully, clearly.

One more from whiskey river (via The Querulous Squirrel):

Poem With Two Endings

Say “death” and the whole room freezes —
even the couches stop moving,
even the lamps.
Like a squirrel suddenly aware it is being looked at.

Say the word continuously,
and things begin to go forward.
Your life takes on
the jerky texture of an old film strip.

Continue saying it, hold it moment after moment inside the mouth,
it becomes another syllable.
A shopping mall swirls around the corpse of a beetle.

Death is voracious, it swallows all the living.
Life is voracious, it swallows all the dead.
neither is ever satisfied, neither is ever filled,
each swallows and swallows the world.

The grip of life is as strong as the grip of death.

(but the vanished, the vanished beloved, o where?)

(Jane Hirshfield)

Finally, on a lighter note: a lithe, lean little barefoot-shuffle of a sermonette from Jack Johnson (lyrics below)…

Lyrics:

Gone
words and music by Jack Johnson
performance by Ben Harper and Jack Johnson

Well look at all those fancy clothes
But these could keep us warm
Just like those.
And what about your soul
Is it cold
Is it straight from the mould
And ready to be sold.

And cars and phones and diamond rings
Bling, bling
Those are only removable things
And what about your mind
Does it shine or
Are there things that concern you more
Than your time

Gone going
Gone everything
Gone give a damn
Gone be the birds when they don’t want to sing
Gone people
All awkward with their things
Gone

Look at you out to make a deal
You try to be appealing but you lose your appeal
And what about those shoes you’re in today
They’ll do no good
On the bridges you burnt along the way

You’re willing to sell anything
Gone with your herd
Leave your footprints
And we’ll shame them with our words

Gone people
All awkward with their things
Gone